Jag made a noise of disappointment at the news, and Rita was struck by the normalcy of the moment.
It would be so easy to believe they were a normal husband and wife, when in truth, they were merely business partners.
“Rafida’sbalaleetis the best in the world. It was my mother’s favorite,” he said, a soft, unguarded smile on his face.
For the second time that night, he had brought up his mother. This time, she knew better than to push too hard.
“Really?” Rita said, forcing her voice to remain casual. “I hadn’t realized Rafida had been in your service for so long.”
“Rafida was my mother’s housekeeper,” he said.
“Really?” Rita exclaimed, genuinely taken aback. While Rafida was no spring chicken, neither did she seem old enough to have been with a family through multiple generations.
Laughing, Jag said, “She was very young when my mother hired her. Just fourteen.”
“That is legitimately child labor,” Rita noted.
Looking askance at her, Jag waved her words away. “Some rules are better broken until someone in a position of power can come along later and change them. Rafida was assaulted, and her family shunned her as a result. At the time, that was more common. Since I have stepped into my role as Crown Prince, things have changed.”
“That’s so awful for Rafida, though,” Rita said, heart heavy.
Jag nodded. “My mother defied everyone, including my father, and gave her a good job. She offered her education as well, but Rafida refused, knowing she would not be as welcomed at school as she was in my mother’s home.”
In a single anecdote, he had revealed the kind of woman his mother had been, far more than the details he had mentioned earlier. And he had revealed how strong and resilient the woman Rita had been sharing a home with was, as well.
Solemnly, Rita said, “Your mother sounds like a generous and brave woman. And Rafida stronger than I even realized.” Sensing without his indicating that he had once again gone as far as he was willing, Rita then deliberately joked, “With two powerful women as role models, it’s too bad you turned out the way you did.”
What her gibe lacked in sophistication—which was a lot—it made up for in efficacy.
Instead of the flare-up of flame in his copper eyes, of his walls going up again, the Prince moved.
As quick as a mongoose, his finger darted out to bop her nose.
Her eyes widened and her breath caught, her skin instantly sparking to life where he’d touched her, but he was unaware of the affect his contact was having on her.
Instead, his eyes triumphant but still somehow light and teasing, he said, “And what about you, Rita?”
“What about me?” she hedged.
“What about your family? Parents, siblings, all of it. Tell me about my in-laws.” His questions were not requests but commands, given as if he’d only now just realized she might have a family history herself.
Likely, he only had.
Even without the need to defy him out of principle, family was a subject about which she didn’t have much to share.
“My family,” she repeated, buying herself time.
What should she start with? What could she tell him that would satisfy a mind that she knew would be looking for hints and details into her background without also revealing dark secrets and wounds that she did not know him well enough yet to discuss?
As curious as she was herself, she knew it was a delicate balance to satisfy someone while retaining your privacy, which was why as NECTAR she didn’t even bother.
She lived in the mystery.
“My family owns a long-distance trucking company,” she said. “My grandfather started it when he came to the United States with my grandmother as a young man and currently my father and US-based uncles run things. I grew up going on long-haul runs with my father every summer.” Rita paused, thinking of what to say next. What she came up with would have to be personal enough to reveal a truth about herself without giving any hints as to how it all ended. Even years after it had all happened, she could not shake the stings of guilt and shame, nor the fear that—in the end and in the eyes of anyone outside of the situation—her actions had not been principled and righteous, but selfish.
“My parents had an arranged marriage,” she said. “My father flew to Bangladesh where he met my mother on the day of their wedding. They stayed there for one week and then flew back to the United States to start their life together. My mother had never been to the US before then.” Rita focused on the parts of the story that had always fascinated her, dangling them like shiny distractions in hopes they might stave off more probing inquiries from Jag. “Two years later, I was born, and three years after that my sister, Nadia, arrived. That’s the lot of us, Mom, Dad, sister, uncles, cousins and me.” She ended on a chipper note, her voice light and easy, even as her stomach turned over.
“Long-distance trucking? That’s—once again, I couldn’t have come up with something better,” he said.